And the Devil Kicked Me Out
by Thunderbird2
Summary: The Devil does have his moments of pity, right? Or is he too much of a coward to lose his throne?


Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyers owns the character's and plot of the _Twilight Series_, only the OC belongs to me.

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**My candle burns at both ends**

**It will not make it through the night**

**But ah, my foes, and, oh, my friends -**

**It gives a lovely light! **

**- Edna St. Vincent Millay**

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He watched her walk away. Something was not right about the woman, it was in the way she held herself, the sense of twisted duty that aired around her. She was poised to strike it felt like when he thought back. The feeling of teeth sinking into the crook of his neck was instant, but...

Who was she? The stranger was beautiful in silhouette.

There was not time to see the fallen angel's face.

It was too dark in the alley. Clouds rolled and blanketed the humid night made Matthew frantic to see where he was. The...He gasps as his lungs burned more intensely as his body slowly began to ache with a sensation that could not be placed. The cold ground was not relieving the numbing pain, even in the puddle that he was lying. There was no other way to describe it! The temperature was dropping too quickly...

Shouldn't he be freezing instead of burning?

Matthew grunted softly, squeezing his eyes tightly against the acidic... Could it be called...poison? Who would inject fiery, acidic poison into a prisoner of war's veins to get them to talk? Fire burst behind his black lids, turning everything blood orange. Scattered chucks of sun-dried mud brick from the house that the inferno took place in front of could barely be seen over it. The blazing sun's heat scorched his suddenly sensitive skin. Then, too, was he wishing for it to end...

A part of him knew this would be final.

This was hotter than hundred degree desert temperatures, though. And it was not coming from an outside source, it was eternal - not a bomb set off by the smallest movements like slamming an Hummer door. The acidic poison was now moving from his neck down into his arms and, eventually, reached legs.

His arms were there, Matt could feel them beside his body but they would not move. It felt as if every nerve detached themselves but some managed to cling on, smouldering. Just like with his legs. Disturbing as it sounded to his logic, the slight reprieve from the pain was more welcoming than horrifying. No blood was pooling under his shattered knee.

He found he could not lift his head when the thought occurred about his left knee's injury; come to think of it, the rest of his body. It was the left that was agonizing the most. Was it really bleeding? His shattered knee? Was that why he could not feel it? His veins were cement now, but this was not going to stop him! It could not!

_This is not...Iraq! _It took a few minutes to think of the war zone - a place that was becoming a nightmarish daydream. But Matt knew it was real as this painful burning of his veins.

A ragged choking moan escaped him when his eyes stared at the sky above. Stars, so many of them, peeking through the overcast flashed with heat lightning in time with his heart beat. It was painful. The acid was starting to pump its way into his heart. Images of the brilliant light before the Hummer burst into flames with Ollie and Rett inside the cab as it flashed through his mind by how closely the thunder rumbled afterwards, civilians and marines alike scrambling to help the wounded and dead.

_Let it end. _he begged in thought. _God, just kill me already! You win! _

The first two days brought no end of torture. Flashes of desert warfare came and went as the acid torn every nerve and cell apart with the Sun's wrath. Though, on the third, an empty nothingness replaced the blood orange screen.

Hell was the new Heaven. Even if he would be tortured there, there would be no more flares of bombs cropping up in his mind. The acid seeped from his toes and finger tips, drew into his elbows and knees with the coolness of morphine, but the injured left leg and knee still burned. He started fighting back against the acid's course. It was useless, though. The morphine-like sensation withdrew from his right, into his torso.

Was he in limbo? Or just waiting in line for the Devil to admit him into one of the rings?

His heart sped up to keep pace with the acid as the heat slowly built up inside his chest - a miniature Sun transplanted into his chest. A shudder ripped through his heart.

Two sluggish thuds, then three, and two again. Matt could hear from behind his ears the slowing pulse. Eventually, there was nothing but silence.

_Three days. _Was it that long? The acid was still severing his hold on reality, or what is left of it. It destroyed what was left of his resolve to fight. Then again, Fate had it in for him. And Fate won. Surprisingly, he was fine with it as long as the torture would end.

And it did. Sounds of drums pounding in his ears had him opening his eyes before the scent hit his nose; feet trampling the ground backed up the multiple rhythms. Rotting trash was the first thing that he noticed then it was the smell of the people passing by in near the mouth of the...where was he?

The sky told him another shower for the afternoon was on the way. Sunlight was trying to burn away the thin sheet of clouds blotting it out, muting it out to soft candlelight.

Trash bins. Puddles. Matthew slowly stood up, hungrily eying each person as he decided which one looked better, but the acid must've ran its course. Nothing hurt at the slightest movement. The drums pulled him towards the passing crowd walking in front of the alley entrance...but how would drums be frantically beating per minute at the same time?

_These are heart beats. Not drums. _

Where didn't matter with his throat burning like this. Later will he figure it out. Right now, water is what he needed.


End file.
